Archive for December, 2010

idle reflection

New Orleans Apartments © Jim Korpi

Dear Self,

A world you traversed in but just one year,
To witness a life you would rather not hear.
Now you’re back where you started,
With little to show,
But life lived idly,
and webs you must sow.

A promise you make must be that which you keep,
Dreams you’ve dreamt must be those that you reap.
So dwell light on your follies,
And build strongly your strengths,
Or growth will come slowly,
And diversions at length.

A new year is dawning with all the same traits,
Disguised as a memory a new world awaits.
Fear little the unknown,
Dread not the mundane,
For life will run quickly,
And time knows no name.

new traditions

Black Friday © Jim Korpi

It’s in the air like a plague ready to wipe clean the weak, trite, and false smiles. There are whispers of a new world order, a world where we recapture our lives and restart anew, and where the past only guides us around the follies of the future and holds us not to some false beliefs and meaningless tradition.
A disillusioned populace in warmer climates wonders how it will endure a Christmas without snow, reindeer, and all the nordic decor to accompany as if these hand-me-down customs will fit the waists and tastes of a world so distanced by time and geography. A comedy ensues in their imitation.
Nostalgia is as murky, thick and suffocating as mud during the holidays. Oh what it was to have the whole family together. Memories hold us hostage to the blossoming potential of new beginnings. We hold on tight to what was as if what will should be a tainted version. Why do we so dread these traditions that have for so long not fed us the sustenance required of such important human behavioral repetition?
Families so torn up by the times must begin the lengthy process of collecting the odd shaped fabrics and sewing it into a new and useful quilt. Let us throw away, with it’s wasteful wrappings, that which drives us further from completeness and fulfillment. Let us relish more the time and relations which bring us closer. Let us renew our vows to each other and to the earth that so thanklessly provides for the very existence we squander.
Let us build new traditions.

sense of direction

In the Shadows © Jim Korpi

“Turn right here,” brain said. I was surprised to remember the hour-long drive to my aunt’s house and the dead-end suburban street she lives on. Her phone number was still lodged in my mind in case my inner compass failed.
The house had changed since my uncle died, but signs of him, like the ornamental whiskey bottles and double-barreled shotgun, lined the basement walls and filled some innate need for nostalgia.
“You little Peckah head,” Uncle Peter would have said had I walked through the front door without my own supply of drinks to accompany the turkey dinner. A game of spades would ensue in the kitchen where Jesus Christ would be summoned in vain for having some part in a bad hand or because Dubba and Dad talked across the table. Cards aren’t played at Thanksgiving anymore.
Dubba, being the patriarch at the head of the dinner, led us in a quiet and brief prayer before the table took on a frenzied chattering of “pass this” and “pass that.”
Dubba says little since his stroke, but his eyes speak restlessly of thoughts untold.